


its first wild promise

by leslytherinphoenix



Series: Agent Carter one-shots [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Fluff, New York City, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslytherinphoenix/pseuds/leslytherinphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a friend thing, Angie thinks, I am bringing a lovely, lovely friend lunch in a box and tea in a thermos because she didn’t come to breakfast this morning and I have the day off.</p>
<p>birthday gift for tumblr user transboyjackkelly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	its first wild promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luminous_Bluebell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminous_Bluebell/gifts).



It’s snowing again. Not that Angie’s surprised, because it’s New York, and because she’s borrowed Gloria’s gorgeous leather shoes and the only thing that’s bound to make Gloria furious is if Angie walks in to dinner with snow all over them.

“It wasn’t even overcast when I left _,_ ” Angie grumbles under her breath. She clutches her purse tighter, looking straight ahead and shivering slightly every time a gust of wind hits her in the face. She probably should’ve worn a thicker coat. Or less fancy shoes—then she wouldn’t be dodging the slush on every corner. Or, for that matter, shoes that _fit. Gloria must have_ tiny _feet,_ Angie thinks absentmindedly, and then she grimaces, because having blistered feet is never fun when balancing several cups on a tray for seven hours straight.

Angie keeps walking like she knows this part of the city, like her jaw didn’t drop the first time she walked through here because everything was so _big._ She gets a little anxious—there’s a kick of adrenaline in her stomach, and more than a little flutter of nerves, but she takes a deep breath and tugs her coat a little snugger against her shoulders. _This is a friend thing,_ Angie thinks, _I am bringing a lovely, lovely_ friend _lunch in a box and tea in a thermos because she didn’t come to breakfast this morning and I have the day off._ Encouraged, Angie quickens her pace, because it’s really cold out here and she thinks it’s starting to snow harder.

After accidentally going down the wrong street for a while—Angie only realizes when she looks at her little map and figures out she’s been holding it sideways—Angie’s walking down the right street with her head held high. She imagines marching into the phone company, Peggy sitting in the corner connecting calls with some guy trying to chat her up. She can see herself smacking him in the face with her purse, hard, so that his eyes bug out, defending Peggy like Peggy’s defended her. Then she actually gets to the main entrance, and the building is so imposing that Angie feels like she’ll never find Peggy in there.

Still, she walks in. “Hello,” she says to the lady at the front desk, “I—I’m looking for Peggy—Margaret—” It feels weird calling her that, Margaret is someone’s grandmother’s name, not Peggy, who it seems will stay young forever—“Carter. She works here.” Looking dubious, the lady readjusts her glasses on her nose. “She’s, uh, about five-seven, brunette, uh—” Angie thinks for a moment, then realizes the obvious: “Oh, and English.”

“Your name?” The lady sounds bored.

“Angela Martinelli.” Angie says automatically, as professionally as she can.

“Wait here,” the lady instructs her, and Angie’s taken aback by how curt her tone is. She almost opens her mouth to spout something smart, but then the lady disappears towards the back and doesn’t come out for what seems like ages.

*~*~*~*

“Carter.” Agent Dooley raps his knuckles on Peggy’s desk. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“That’s impossible,” Peggy says flatly, rifling through the gigantic stack of paper that has accumulated on her desk, because apparently everyone’s too _busy_ to do their own filing and somehow it always ends up on her desk.

“Well, obviously not,” Dooley says, sounding annoyed, and Peggy finally looks up, quirking an eyebrow. “Angela Martinelli, Carter. Name sound familiar?”

All the color drains out of Peggy’s face, and her hands are shaking only slightly as she sets the papers down. “Is everything alright?”

“How would I know?” Dooley rolls his eyes. Peggy doesn’t move. “She can’t just stand out there all day, Carter.” Dooley raises his voice. Sousa turns around to see what’s going on.

“Right, sorry,” Peggy hisses and stands up, flattening the front of her skirt with the palms of her hands. “I’ll be right back then,” she says, and walks out of the room as fast as she can without running.

“Angie, is everything—” Peggy’s frantic, almost sliding into the lobby, curls in disarray.

“English!” Angie stands up from a lobby couch, gripping her handbag so tight her knuckles are almost white. Still, her smile is real, and a welcome relief. “I—” she falters when she sees Peggy’s face. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” Peggy says instead of answering, and Angie’s face falls the tiniest bit.

“I brought you lunch. And tea.” Angie pulls a box and a thermos out of her bag and hands them to Peggy, who stares at them once they’re in her hands. “You missed breakfast,” Angie says over Peggy’s silence. “Sorry if I got you in trouble—I thought you might be hungry, and I have the day off from the diner, so I thought I’d walk over here—”

“You walked?” Peggy looks up, meets Angie’s eyes. Peggy realizes that there’s snow in Angie’s hair, that her cheeks are flushed, and, instinctively, reaches up to brush a lock of hair behind Angie’s ear. After a moment, in which Angie can only think _Peggy Carter makes my skin burn,_ Peggy composes herself and scoffs a little bit. “Angie, really, thank you, but--it’s ice cold outside.”

“It’s not that bad,” Angie shrugs. “Really, English. Enjoy your lunch, okay?” She smiles and turns to go. Peggy touches her arm from behind, and Angie stops mid-stride. 

“Let me walk you home,” Peggy says. She sounds determined. “Hold on for just a moment, I’ll grab my coat.” Before Angie can say anything, Peggy dashes off into that mysterious back part of the building. She’s back in about two minutes, gripping her coat and a briefcase. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

“You really don’t have to walk me home,” Angie protests when they step outside, more out of good form than anything else. “Really, I’m fine—” Angie barely manages to dodge some very slushy, disgusting snow, and almost skids right into Peggy when she steps on ice instead. “Sorry, English,” she says, holding onto Peggy for balance. “Gloria’s gonna kill me if I get these shoes messed up.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” Peggy asks, and Angie laughs, until she realizes Peggy’s actually serious, and then she blushes bright red.

“No, no, it’s fine, English,” Angie says, frantically waving her hands through the air because she’s always talked with her hands and she get flustered easily. “Really, I’m just complaining, you know me—” She stops talking abruptly. Peggy laughs, looks down at her feet.  “Are you sure it’s fine that you’re off work? I can make it the rest of the way, English, ‘snot like I’m—”

“I told them I had an _emergency_.” Peggy rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t doing anything important, anyways.” Angie opens her mouth to talk, but Peggy cuts her off. “Angie. It’s _fine._ Let’s get you home, though, you’ll catch your death out here.”

“Don’t get in trouble because of me,” Angie says warningly, as seriously as she can. “Seriously. I don’t know what your priorities are, but—”

“You’re incorrigible,” Peggy shakes her head. “Really, what do I have to tell you so you finally believe this is a welcome alternative to another day of listening to people talk?”

“I don’t know,” Angie says, and she’s nervous again, but she keeps talking because that’s what she does best. “I guess you’ll have to think of something.”

Peggy stops, grabs Angie’s arm, turns her so they’re facing each other on the narrow sidewalk. Angie’s cheeks are flushed with the chill. Peggy seems like she’s preparing to say something. She opens her mouth, and then a car drives by, blaring its horn. Peggy tenses up and Angie starts, and then Peggy’s clearing her throat awkwardly and plunging her hands into her pockets. “I’ll tell you later,” Peggy promises, and she’s more breathing the words out than really speaking. “Remind me, alright?” Angie nods. For once, she doesn’t know what to say.

They keep walking. Peggy takes Angie’s arm to steady her and helps her skip over slush piles. It’s more like a game than anything else; the street acting as a playground of sorts, only with more cars and angry shouting. They end up sharing Peggy’s lunch on a park bench, even though Angie feels bad about it, and then she almost spills tea all over Peggy’s lap. It doesn’t really matter, though, because it’s stopped snowing and the sun’s peeking out from behind the clouds and with Peggy, the city seems less like something to get lost in, an unattainable dream, and more like something they can conquer. 


End file.
